Rises the Night

Chapter 5 Of Balconies and Reprimands

Victoria smoothed her thumb over the bronze amulet. It could be no coincidence that she'd found one at Sebastian's place and then here again… where Sebastian just happened to be.

Lips firming in irksome thought, she cast one last assuring look at George, who snored comfortably in his wing-back chair, then hurried out of the library and up the stairs.

Aunt Eustacia had not received a response from Wayren regarding the amulet before Victoria left London, but she'd been assured of an update as soon as she did. Victoria'd assumed the amulet had belonged to the demon, but that appeared not to be the case, since there were no demons or vampires here at Claythorne.

Focused on her thoughts, Victoria didn't see him until it was too late. He stepped out of an alcove just a short distance from her bedchamber, causing her to falter in her hurried pace.

Sloppy. She should have expected it; she should have known.

"Sebastian," she said, looking up into his handsome face. Light from her candle flowed over his cheeks, settling a golden cast over his curling hair. His lips were positioned in that sensual, amused smile that alternately annoyed and charmed her.

"Why, Lady Rockley," he said smoothly. "What a surprise to find you wandering the halls in the middle of the night."

She was in no mood to be charmed. "I suppose I have you to thank for my rude awakening."

The amusement spread to his eyes as he bowed his head slightly. "Mr. Starcasset is madly in love with your fetching person, and, I have found, is quite biddable when plied with enough brandy."

Victoria realized they were standing in the hall, where, unlikely as it might be in the wee hours of the night, they could easily be seen. With an angry look, she stalked past him and reached her door, Sebastian at her heels.

Once inside her room, she placed the candle on her dressing table and turned to face him, arms crossed over her middle, and suddenly she was quite glad she'd had the wherewithal to don the pelisse. "You sent that poor man in here!"

"Let us go out on the balcony," he suggested. "Despite the fact that you are a widow, and being found with a man in your bedchamber wouldn't be considered overly scandalous, it is a lovely night. Besides," he added as he strode past her toward the French doors that opened to a small terrace, "I don't wish to be in the same room as you and a bed… unless you mean to put it to use." He paused dramatically. "Do you?"

Ignoring the spike of interest that sent a warm rush over her bosom, Victoria brushed past him, heading out onto the terrace.

"Apparently not." Closing the doors behind them, Sebastian walked out to stand across the way from her. "And as for Starcasset… well, in reviewing the situation, I determined it was much more prudent to get you out of your room if I wished to speak with you than to attempt to breach it myself. I had a feeling your hospitality might be a bit… chilly." His smile shone in the moonlight. "And yet… here I am. Exactly where I planned to be. And it is not so very cold at all."

"On the contrary. I find the temperature rather brisk." A very light breeze brushed the tips of his tousled hair and skimmed over Victoria's cheeks. It was indeed a lovely night. The roses and lilies that grew in the garden below scented the balcony. She breathed deeply and smelled fresh country and night air, tangy and dark; so different from the mosaic of artificial smells of London and Society.

The silvery moonlight only enhanced Sebastian's appearance, a factor she presumed had prompted his suggestion to withdraw to the balcony, the proximity of a bed notwithstanding. His arms extended, hands propped on the top of the rail, he watched her with an easiness that irked her. The pale illumination from the celestial bodies tipped the edges of his curls silver, and helped to keep his expression partially hidden.

Victoria waited for him to speak, but he did not; so she said, "Now that you have gone through such great pains to draw me from my bed, surely you will keep me in suspense no longer."

"So you have left London." He looked at her as though searching for something. "How are you, Victoria?"

She looked away. There were bountiful layers of meaning in his simple question; whether he intended every one that she read there, she did not know. "Why do you ask? Perhaps because your plan to deliver me to Lilith's vampires didn't work? Because you are ashamed that you ran from the Silver Chalice last year and left Max and Phillip to face the vampires on their own?" Though she kept it steady, surely he could not mistake the anger in her voice.

He stood angled so that his eyes were shadowed, and she could not read what was truly there. "Ah. Then I have the answer to one of my questions. You still think the worst of me—that I would be so despicable as to make love to you in a carriage as I was delivering you to the vampires. Despite the fact that I warned you when your husband came to the Silver Chalice. Despite the fact that without my assistance with the Book of Antwartha, Maximilian would be dead and Lilith would most likely have it in her possession." Cool and unruffled he spoke, but there was an underlying emotion that Victoria could not identify. She wasn't sure that she wanted to.

"As I recall, you would have stood by and watched Max perish when he tried to take the book. But regardless of that small point, what else was I to think?"

"That perhaps I simply got carried away by your beautiful mouth, and wanted to distract you from the pain that was so obvious in your eyes—and that the arrival of vampires was no more a part of my plan than to get you undressed."

Now she could see his eyes, and the look there sent a little shiver over her shoulders. "According to Max, you would always take the opportunity to undress a woman, particularly in a carriage."

"I have no wish to hear Maximilian's opinions, for that is what they are, merely opinions—and most likely indicative only of his own inclinations, were he not so bound and determined to be a Venator and nothing more. A hunter, a killer… a man of violence with little left for anything—or anyone—else. I, Victoria… I am not a man of violence."

"A fact supported by your cowardly escape from the Silver Chalice last summer."

"Grief has made you harsh. I am sorry for it. I am truly sorry for your husband's death. If it is any consolation to you, I believed he and Maximilian would follow me when I sneaked out the back entrance of the pub."

"This is all very enlightening, reliving the events of last summer with you in the middle of the night on my balcony, but I am having a difficult time believing you went through the trouble to trick Mr. Starcasset into entering my bedchamber merely in order to show off how well you look in the moonlight."

"You think I look well in the moonlight? What a serendipitous happenstance!"

"I am finished with this conversation, and I am past ready for you to leave." She turned and started toward the doors, preparing to lock them behind her if he did not follow. Surely if he could escape from a group of vampires, he could find a way off the balcony on his own.

When his hand closed around her arm, she whirled and whipped off his strong grip with a snap of her wrist and a whisk of silken skirts. It felt good to release some of the tension that had been building inside her. Between them. Let him know she was still in control.

"You still wear your vis bulla." He stepped closer to her, his boot-clad feet grinding on the brick-and-mortar terrace.

"Does that surprise you?" She felt the knob of the door behind her, but other than closing her fingers over its cool brass, made no move to turn it. He was very, very close, but she was not unsettled. After all, she'd faced down numerous vampires, and a demon. And even the Queen of the Vampires. A mere man was no danger to her.

"I assumed since you'd left London that you'd also left your Venator days behind you. Or perhaps you wear the vis bulla in order to protect yourself from overly amorous suitors like Mr. Starcasset."

"George"—she used his given name deliberately—"was not overly amorous until you poked your elegant fingers into the mess."

"You consider my fingers elegant, then?" Sebastian's smile flashed. "Two compliments in one evening… how completely unexpected."

"I have not left my Venator days behind me. Why would I do that?"

His shoulders moved in a nonchalant shrug. "I thought perhaps after what transpired with Rockley, you might have decided to walk away. After all, you'd done your duty, and look at the result. You lost the love of your life."

"Walk away? The question would not be whether I would, but how could I shirk my duty? After seeing firsthand the evil of vampires, how could I?"

She realized he was closer. She could see the brush of long eyelashes and the slender line of the dimple that barely showed when he was not smiling, as now. "There's always a choice, Victoria."

"I made mine. I would not walk away. Nothing would make me walk away, now that Phillip is gone."

"Nothing?" The word hung on the air between them, as though Sebastian saw the truth in her eyes and hoped to discern it. She held his gaze defiantly.

"Nothing."

His shoulders moved as he heaved in a long breath, then exhaled as though savoring it. "You are quite an admirable woman, my dear. Perhaps even out of my league." He reached for her again, slowly and easily, and closed his fingers around her wrist. "What is it that you have been clutching here this whole time?"

Again she pulled away, but not so harshly. His fingers were surprisingly strong; it was an effort to break his grip. And then she opened her hand so that he could see the amulet shining in her palm. "I am quite glad you asked. I believe this is yours?"

Taking it, he needed only a glance and then turned his eyes back to her, still standing close enough that she could smell cloves, see the sprinkling of golden-brown hair beyond the cuff of his shirt. "Do you know what this is?"

She shook her head, and his expression eased a bit.

"Ah. So why do you attribute it to me, if you do not know what it is?"

"I found one at the Silver Chalice, and then one here tonight. You are the only common factor in both places."

"Thus and so you came to the conclusion that this was mine. In that case, perhaps I'll choose not to be offended. You found one at the Silver Chalice you say? When? Where?"

She explained, and included the fact that she'd met and beheaded a demon.

"A demon? With a vampire?" He turned away, moving from her side and breaking the intimacy his proximity had given. "Nedas has taken no chances."

"Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you going to mumble to yourself about things I don't understand—and thus can't help with?"

"Ever the impatient one, aren't you?" A quick smile brought the dimple into relief; then it disappeared as his expression sobered. "This amulet belongs to a member of the Tutela. Do you know anything about the Tutela?"

"No."

"The Tutela is a secret society, an ancient one. Hundreds of years old, as I've heard it told. Started in Rome, probably in the catacombs right next to the Christians, if you can believe the irony."

Standing across the balcony from her, he shrugged off his coat, letting the dark material crumple into the shadows at his feet. Now his white shirt, buttoned but not cravated, caught the moonlight and fairly glowed in the darkness that was his backdrop. "Oh, do not fear, I am not preparing to ravage you. This jacket is rather stifling, and it's not as if you haven't seen my shirtsleeves in the past."

Instead of the grin she expected, he merely gave her a look that sent her stomach to tingling. When she made no response, he continued, "The Tutela protect vampires." He unfastened the wrists of his shirt with great nonchalance. "They have done so for centuries."

"Protect them? How? Like offering an establishment where the vampires can come and drink with mortals?" Victoria replied archly.

Although his broad shoulders and darker, muscled arms glowed in the moonlight as he rolled up his sleeves, his face was in shadow again. How did he manage to do that—show off his physique while hiding his expression?

Or perhaps it was merely that Victoria could not help but notice the way his shirt clung to his waist and molded the very same shoulders she had had occasion to hold on to. And perhaps she didn't really want to know what was going on inside his head.

"Now there you go, bordering on insult again, my dear. Surely your aunt has taught you better than that. No, their purpose leans more toward providing mortals for vampires to feed upon. Bringing innocent people to the undead for their pleasure and nourishment. And gadding about during the day and protecting the interests and secrecy of the vampires while they stay safe in the darkness. Doing the evil work that the undead cannot, or will not, do in an effort to stabilize and increase their power. Members of the Tutela are the whores of the undead."

"But why? Why would anyone do that?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Such an innocent you are still, even with all that you have experienced and seen. I do not know if I would wish for that to change or not." He braced his hands back on the rail. "There are some people who yearn for immortality. Who find pleasure in being fed upon by an undead. Who believe that if they protect the vampires, they in turn will be protected from the evils in this world."

The flash of a memory stunned her. Bodies, bloody and ravaged, mutilated from the neck to the legs… the blank eyes, the gashes below the jaws, the tears in the chests, the rank, dull smell of blood. The sight she'd faced after the only time she'd been too late to stop a vampire raid last summer, shortly after she and Phillip had been married. It still had the power to send oily nausea into the back of her throat.

When she relived that image, she could not understand—could not fathom—how any man or woman could protect such creatures, let alone fraternize or mingle with them. "I cannot comprehend it," she finally said, when the memory eased and the silence had stretched long enough.

"Victoria, I kept the Silver Chalice as a vehicle to allow the undead to congregate so that any important information might be gleaned from them whilst in their social moods. As I said to you before, I prefer to have them where I can see them, and spy on them, rather than have no idea what they plan. I am not, and never was, a member of the Tutela. Regardless of any of my other actions, I hope that you believe at least that of me."

She couldn't see his face, blast it! How could she know what to think? "Move into the light, where I can see you."

"My pleasure." He stepped away from the balcony, but did not stop at one or two, or even three paces. He stopped when he had her upper arms in his hands, his boots touching her slippers. "Victoria." The French of his voice hung on the syllables, and her breath stilled.

He bent toward her and she closed her eyes, waited. It had been over a year since a man's hands had been on her. A year since she'd been touched with any affection or sensuality. She'd given no thought to how much of a dearth it made in her life. But now she knew.

A tiny huff of breath escaped her lips before he brushed his mouth over hers, back, and then again. Fitted to her lips just perfectly, just enough that her fingers wanted to close over his arms.

And then he pulled away, released her, and opened his eyes. For the first time that night she read the message there, and it made her want to step away… or drag him back for more.

He was back to his cool, charming self. "Don't believe for one moment that I didn't want more, Victoria," he said lightly, as though to deny the fact. "But there are more pressing matters to discuss."

"Pressing matters?"

As if shaking off a slumber, he turned and paced back along the balcony, rolling up a sleeve that had fallen back to his wrist. "Since you found the amulet at the Chalice, that means someone involved with the Tutela was there… likely the demon or vampire you killed, or perhaps both. There are no other vampires in London, are there?"

"When I left this morning, it was after two weeks of patrolling every night. I found the demon and vampire at the ruins of the Chalice, and I saw one other vampire, who got away… and no others. Lilith has not returned." She looked up at him in question. "I don't know where you've been for the last year, Sebastian, but you may not be aware that Lilith took her followers and returned to her hideaway in the mountains after she did not succeed in getting the Book of Antwartha."

"I am aware of that, although I have not been in England. I made my way to the Continent quite rapidly after my visit from the vampires at the pub." He looked out over the gardens below, then turned back to Victoria. "They're looking for Polidori. And someone is here. Someone from the Tutela. Someone must have dropped that amulet. But there aren't any vampires here."

"No, there aren't. Nor demons either, I don't believe."

"You can sense demons as well, then. Good. Polidori will be relieved to hear that."

"Are you going to tell me why they are after him? Or shall I guess?"

His charming smile was back. "I'm certain it won't be difficult for you to figure out."

"It must be his book. The Vampyre. It reveals too much about the truth of vampires. And you are traveling with him for what reason? Surely not to protect him."

"Now, Victoria… do not besmirch my capabilities; particularly since you aren't acquainted with the vast array of my talents." What little seriousness was left on his face shifted away, and his eyes locked on hers. "Though it is not for lack of desire on my part that you remain uneducated. At any rate, yes, I met him in Italy. Byron dismissed him from his service, not because he didn't need a physician any longer, but because he was afraid for his life." He sighed. "I will let John tell you the story; he has all of the details. Suffice to say, I do not expect this to be a quiet and safe house party. Someone is here from the Tutela. Whoever it is, they will be after Polidori, and I should not be far from him until we determine who it is."

"Why doesn't the doctor just leave?"

"That is what he has been doing for the last year—trying to stay ahead of them. Somehow, they must have found out I was involved; hence, they were looking for me at the Silver Chalice." He pushed away from the railing. "At least no one knows that there is a Venator in our midst," he said, his lips twitching crookedly. "Polidori will be relieved to hear that; and with you in attendance, he won't be in any hurry to leave. He's safer here with you than anywhere else."

"That is true. Can you arrange for me to speak with him tomorrow?"

"Of course. If you join us on our hunt in the morning, we should be able to take a few moments to speak alone where no one can hear."

"Very well, then."

He started to go, moving toward her, and she suddenly felt exceedingly aware of… him, herself, the quiet and intimacy of the night. Victoria could have shifted out of his path, or opened the doors and slipped into the room before him… but she didn't. His approach sent her gaze up into his face as he neared, and her belly pitched unsteadily.

"If you continue to look at me like that, Victoria, I'll be most happy to give you what you want." The edge in his voice was unfamiliar and brusque. "After all, you are no longer an innocent."

She stood her ground and reached up to touch his cheek with light fingertips. She'd never voluntarily touched a man before… except Phillip. She wanted Sebastian's arms around her, not just a brush of mouth over mouth. She wanted to feel and to forget. She wanted to be more than a Venator, more than a widow, more than a sedate marchioness sipping tea whilst discussing the weather and who was fornicating with whom.

Sebastian allowed her fingers on his face for a moment; then, with studied casualness, he reached for her wrist and brought her palm gently to his mouth. A kiss on the inside cup of her hand, and one on her wrist, brought back the memory of the night he'd removed her glove and done the same. She'd never gotten that glove back.

"If I didn't have to go to Polidori, you would be in quite a bit of trouble, my dear." He released her hand and, without looking back at her, brushed past and through the French doors.